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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280435">what makes you return</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celicalms/pseuds/celicalms'>celicalms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherhood, Character Study, Diaspora, FE Ramadan, Gen, Muslim Character, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), intsys hire me to write claude and cyril’s A support thanks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:13:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celicalms/pseuds/celicalms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Cyril shakes his head again at the absurdity of their leader, how he can get away with so much and with so few consequences. It’s not as though Claude has any malice behind it, he simply enjoys the smoke and mirrors and maintaining his facade for people. <i>I shouldn’t say enjoy, really,</i> Cyril amends. <i>It’s more like...survival.</i></p>
</blockquote><br/>For Day 4 of #FERamadan: Sacrifice/Honor/Pilgrimage.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cyril &amp; Claude von Riegan, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what makes you return</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claude always had a way of hiding his true intentions. But Cyril had a way of figuring him out anyway.</p><p>Cyril’s ears are ringing from the live band, despite them being stationed on the opposite side of the ballroom, but he doesn’t mind much. He leans against one of the pillars at the edge of the party, occasionally stealing a bite of dessert from Lysithea as they both people-watch amusedly. In the highs of the post-war celebration, Claude eagerly pours the rest of the Golden Deer team alcohol, and Hilda and Leonie pound the table chanting “shots shots shots!” repeatedly until all the glasses are filled. <i>Let’s see what this guy does next…</i> Cyril thinks to himself, eyeing Claude intently.</p><p>Cyril catches Claude’s gaze and the mischievous leader gives him a wink before turning to the others. </p><p>“To the end of the war!” Claude bellows, hoisting his glass to the sky, careful to not slosh any of the sticky liquid on his robes. </p><p>“TO THE END OF THE WAR!” Everyone cheers and snatches up drinks. Raphael is thumping Ignatz’s back as the archer cringes but finally downs the shot, and Claude applauds him. His laughter is musical, filling the ballroom with a vibrancy that Cyril knows is incomparable, and he can’t help but smile, knowing that Claude’s joy is genuine, real, for the first time in a long time. <i>Maybe ever.</i></p><p>Cyril unfolds his arms as Claude approaches him, and Cyril straightens his back a bit. </p><p>“Enjoying the festivities?” Claude addresses both Cyril and Lysithea. The platinum blonde nods fervently, her mouth too stuffed with sweets to reply audibly. </p><p>“I sure am. You seem to be having a good time as well. What’s that drink you’ve got there?” Cyril already knows the answer to his question, but he wants to hear the witty response Claude comes up with. </p><p>“Oh, just the jungle juice from the drinks booth. Why, you want a sip?” Claude’s eyes twinkle and he flashes the shorter man a devilish grin.</p><p>“You know I don’t drink, bhaiya.” <i>And neither do you!</i> Cyril gives Claude the most unimpressed stare. </p><p>“Riiight, right. Well, carry on then! I’ll get back to the madness. I think Lorenz is teaching the others how to waltz and I want to mess with him.” </p><p>Claude swivels on his heels and his golden cape swishes into the sea of people once again, while Lysithea looks confusedly between the two men. </p><p>“Um, did I just miss something there?” Lysithea’s mouth is shaped in a little baffled ‘o’, with a smudge of frosting at the corner of her mouth. Cyril shakes his head and leans into Lysithea, swiping her bottom lip with his thumb and licking the sweet cream.</p><p>“Claude doesn’t drink either. We’re both Almyran.” Cyril says, and Lysithea’s eyebrows furrow further.</p><p>“I got <i>that</i> part. Then what’s in the mug?” Cyril shakes his head again at the absurdity of their leader, how he can get away with so much and with so few consequences. It’s not as though Claude has any malice behind it, he simply enjoys the smoke and mirrors and maintaining his facade for people. <i>I shouldn’t say enjoy, really,</i> Cyril amends. <i>It’s more like...survival.</i></p><p>“It’s juice. Fruit juice. For big events when Claude needs to make a public appearance, he’ll swap out the bottles in the drinks area so only he knows which are non-alcoholic. Then he picks those ones and carries that glass the entire night so people don’t ask to drink with him.” Lysithea nearly smashes her face in her cake from the recoil of her laughter.</p><p>“Are you serious? That’s beyond hilarious. Can Claude go a single day without scheming something? I can’t imagine.” Lysithea regains composure and dusts her dress off in case more dessert has spilled from her laughing fit. </p><p>“Yeah, I can’t imagine either.” Cyril hums in agreement, but he’s more melancholic about it. Lysithea observes Cyril’s change of tone and tilts her head reflectively. Cyril instinctively knows she wants to press him further about it, but he suddenly feels queasy thinking about Claude’s charades. His mind wanders dangerously close to the mire of his Almyran childhood, and for now, he’d rather not explore. </p><p>“Hey,” he pushes himself off the column and grabs Lysithea by the hand. “Let’s go dance. I think the crowd’s lightening up, so you don’t gotta worry about getting pushed around.” Lysithea rises from her seat and squeezes his hand, not knowing but still silently understanding his change of topic. </p><p>“Lead the way, Cy.” </p><p>--</p><p>The dying embers of the festival flicker into the night, with some people stumbling home and others nearly falling asleep on their third or fourth round of drinks and desserts. Cyril had offered to join the cleanup crew, but the staff shoos him away, insisting <i>would you please rest for once in your life! </i></p><p><i>If Claude bhaiya can’t rest, then neither can I,</i> but he begrudgingly accepts their request and leaves the party.</p><p>Lysithea is long gone and probably fast asleep by now, Cyril having escorted her back to the dorms earlier that evening. Cyril wants to feel tired too, but for some reason fatigue escapes him. He can’t shake the unsettling feeling from before, when his mind strayed too close to his tumultuous past. </p><p>The moon glowed a brilliant white against the dark sky, and Cyril instead opts for a brisk walk around the monastery. <i>Maybe that’ll wear me out,</i> he reassures himself. As his boots click against the stone and tile, he begins noticing things he hadn’t before, in all his time at Garreg Mach. The way some statues seemed to wilt from weathering, or the way the wildflowers swayed gently in the cool breeze. He had spent so much time focused on tasks for Lady Rhea, or preparations for battle, that he missed so many quaint details of his long-time home. <i>How much of Almyra did I miss for the same near-sighted reasons? </i>Cyril shakes the thought off and places all his focus into sightseeing. He was determined to revisit every major location, when he stops in his tracks at the entrance to the stables. </p><p>A part of the stables was redesigned during wartime to accommodate for the multiple wyverns used by the Alliance, so the stables were inhabited by horse and dragon alike. But Cyril isn’t surprised by the non-human residents.</p><p>“Claude bhaiya? What are you doing here?” </p><p>The man freezes, looking up at the other Almyran.</p><p>“I could ask the same of you, Cyril,” Claude replies obliquely and doesn’t step away from the sleepy beast. The wyvern is adorned with provisions and jugs, and a battered but gorgeous burgundy tapestry swings from its back. </p><p>“I’m not the one suiting up for a multi-day flight in the middle of the night,” Cyril retorts. He wants to be scolding but he’s more intrigued by yet another one of Claude’s odd behaviors. Claude stares at Cyril for a few moments with an indecipherable expression before casually laughing and waving his hands. </p><p>“The night is so lovely, I just <i>had</i> to go for a quick lap around the monastery—” </p><p>“I’m serious bhaiya, what’re you up to?” Cyril approaches the wyvern and pets its muzzle, the scaly surface rubbing against his calloused palms. Cyril knows Claude can’t wriggle his way out of this. At last, the Alliance leader sighs heavily.</p><p>“I’m returning to Almyra.” His emerald eyes lock with Cyril’s amber ones. An immediate stream of questions flood Cyril’s conscience. </p><p><i>Tonight? When will you come back?</i> Will<i> you come back? Why are you leaving? Why haven’t you told anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?</i> </p><p>“You weren’t supposed to know, to tell you the truth,” Claude begins. <i>The truth is a good place to start, yeah.</i> “Only Byleth knows, since I figured they could hold down the fort for a while. I’m sorry you found out this way. I’m sorry you found out at all, since I know Almyra isn’t exactly the rosiest of memories for you—”</p><p>“What makes you want to return? Why do you wanna go back?” Cyril interrupts, refocusing the conversation on the other man. Claude breaks eye contact with Cyril and fixates on the details of his dragon’s face, its slitted eyes seemingly peering at Claude for an answer as well. </p><p>“I have business there. I’ve been corresponding with a number of diplomats, and now is my chance to bring peace to my— ...my homeland.” Claude glances at Cyril, expecting a response, but Cyril says nothing. He continues. “Byleth is by no means a political veteran, but they know enough for us to negotiate a treaty that will appeal to both Fodlanian and Almyran nobles alike.” </p><p>Claude adjusts and re-adjusts the knapsacks on the wyvern, fiddling with the belts to preoccupy his hands. </p><p>“You can’t go to Almyra alone,” Cyril states matter-of-factly. Claude feels Cyril’s gaze singe through his clothes. </p><p>“If you’re saying you’re coming with me, it’s not happening. This is only my burden to bear.” Claude turns around and continues loading supplies, and Cyril steps forward, growing irritated.</p><p>“No bhaiya. It’s <i>our</i> burden because it’s <i>our</i> homeland.” At Cyril’s declaration, Claude whips around, his face creased with disbelief.</p><p>“Since when did you align with the motherland? I thought you hated Almyra.” Claude’s words pierce Cyril worse than any battle wound he’d suffered. But why? </p><p>Cyril has charged sloppily into the bog of his mind, sloshing through the swamp muck trying to regain his footing. The tragedy of his parents’ deaths. The gloom of the orphanage. The unforgiving streets of the old cities. The resentment of the king. </p><p>
  <i>And yet.</i>
</p><p>“I thought so too,” Cyril finally replies, his voice softened. He wants to shield his younger self, who he has protectively huddled around, but he is just as vulnerable as the child. “Could you blame me? My time there was defined by misfortune. The only good thing I got from Almyra was my faith.” Cyril picks at the fraying leather on his outfit, and Claude nods thoughtfully.</p><p>“Your faith, huh,” he reflects. </p><p>“Yeah. So I kept practicing it. But it’s not fair to pluck the religion from where it first sprouted. It’s Almyran too, and hating the country makes me no better than the people who kidnapped me and brought me to Fodlan.” Cyril’s chest is heavy and he breathes in and out, slowly and deeply. </p><p>Claude drops his equipment and approaches Cyril, hesitating to get closer. <i>It wasn’t just me, was it? It was also kid Claude bhaiya. Does he fear the past, too?</i></p><p>“Bhaiya?” Cyril’s voice squeaks, and Claude gingerly places his arms around the other. Claude’s aromas of ittar and oud are warm and familiar, like waking in the mornings to the scents and sounds of the bazaars down the streets, and rolling out of bed to grab freshly made semolina breads that nip at his fingertips with heat. Cyril doesn’t realize that his body is so rigid, and he relaxes into Claude’s embrace.</p><p>“It’s easier to hate people, I agree,” Claude murmurs. “Much harder to see who is truly responsible for the suffering of those very same people.” Cyril nods, his chin bumping against Claude’s shoulder while doing so. </p><p>“I woulda realized that a lot sooner if I’d known you were Almyran. It was only ‘cause of you I made the connection.” </p><p>“Don’t give me so much credit, Cy. Coming here estranged me from Almyran traditions. I’m a kafir there and an infidel here, there’s no winning,” Cyril can’t see Claude’s face but feels his mouth curl upward into a smirk. Claude’s reaction is a little bitter and sad, like catching the grounds of Almyran coffee in your mouth. </p><p>“I’d like to think the effort counts for something. At least it does for us. I don’t know about the Church of Seiros though,” Cyril chuckles. Claude pulls away from Cyril and grips him firmly by the shoulders, jostling him playfully.</p><p>“Wow. So you really were a heathen all along. And a damn good bluff, too. You even got past me. How’d you pull it off?” </p><p>“No one really questioned if I disappeared off somewhere. They assumed I was running errands. Which was usually the case, but I’d find time for prayer to recenter myself.” </p><p>Cyril can’t count how many times he had snuck back to his room to pray. He’d crouch by his bedside to grab his well-worn prayer mat, with threads dyed the color of wheat and amber, and unroll it on the wood flooring. Cyril found it cathartic to fuss with the direction of the mat until it pointed in the direction of Almyra, or as close as he could manage. He and Lysithea spent hours pouring over geography books in the library, repositioning their compass until they had an approximation of Cyril’s bedroom in relation to the homeland. It would have to do. </p><p>
  <i>Arrows bounce off enough objects to land on their target, right? My prayers will reach Almyra at some point.</i>
</p><p>“Well, it’s a small miracle you could manage even that. I only started practicing again after the war started.” Claude softens his grip on Cyril, looking away from him. </p><p>“What made you return?” </p><p>“...When the stakes are that high, I’ll take any god’s offer.” </p><p>Cyril gives Claude a small nod, knowing on a spiritual level how that could have felt. In Cyril’s times of desperation, he could count on his faith to guide him. No matter how long it took for his prayers to be answered. It was the only thing he had, his only solace.</p><p>“I think this trip will be good for us, bhaiya. For both of us.” Cyril picks up the equipment Claude had dropped earlier and jogs over to his wyvern, preparing for their departure. </p><p>“There’s no use convincing you to stay, huh. You really are a chotto bhai, aren’t you? Always following me around, I can’t go anywhere without you!” Claude calls out to him with a tone of complaint, but Cyril laughs to himself. He goes back to where Claude is standing to grab some knapsacks stuffed with provisions. </p><p>“Listen, bhaiya. I can’t leave without saying bye to Lysithea. It’d break her heart if I didn’t.” He looks to the Almyran royalty for consent. Maybe it isn’t out of a deferral to authority, actually. Maybe Cyril just needs permission from his big brother. Claude rolls his eyes and dismisses him in a mocking battalion fashion, and Cyril dashes to the entrance of the stables. He feels a gush of wind in his gait and is overcome with nostalgia, of memories running through the streets of the old city, camping in the shade of the market stalls, thankful to secure some cool relief, if only for a few moments. Cyril bounces in his step and turns to look back at Claude. </p><p>“I’ll be back with my travel gear. Promise you won’t leave without me.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, I promise.” </p><p>Claude waves his hand dismissively, but Cyril shakes his head. </p><p>“Allah ki kasm?”</p><p>“Wallahi, Cy, wallahi.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>apologies if the endgame stuff isn’t completely accurate bc I haven’t finished VW aha</p><p>I’m still undecided as to whether or not claude tells the rest of the GD gang that he’s almyran, but for the purpose of this fic I decided that he lets his guard down and trusts his team with his identity</p><p>I reaaaaaalllyyy wanted claude to reveal his arabic name to cyril but there was already a lot going on in this fic and I didn’t wanna busy it with more stuff</p><p>find me at <a href="https://twitter.com/celicalms">@celicalms</a></p><p>okay time for me to dump all my translations for yall</p><p>bhaiya = honorific for older brother in bangla and other south asian languages</p><p>ittar = essential oil derived from flowers/other plants</p><p>oud = agarwood</p><p>kafir = infidel/unbeliever, noteworthy bc there’s a surah/prayer dedicated to discussing unbelievers and ultimately promotes tolerance/freedom of religion </p><p>chotto bhai = little brother</p><p>allah ki kasm = do you swear by it?/do you swear to god?</p><p>wallahi = I swear by it/to god</p></blockquote></div></div>
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